


Yule in Erebor

by Gaaladrieel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Dreams and Nightmares, Durin's Day, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Yule, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-18 07:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaaladrieel/pseuds/Gaaladrieel
Summary: Two years after they won both the battle and their home back, Bilbo is still troubled by it. But thankfully, Thorin is there to offer comfort and kisses. And it's time to leave the battle behind, and celebrate their victory, Durin's Day, and an early Yule for Bilbo!





	Yule in Erebor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [C_RIE_ativity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_RIE_ativity/gifts).



> My fic for this year's happy hobbit holiday! Hope my giftee, and everyone reading, enjoy it ❤

_It’s so quiet up here. Too quiet._

_It was never supposed to go this way. They never wanted a war, only the mountain. But the war had come nevertheless. They’d at first thought it’d be easy, dealing with the elves. But then the orcs, trolls, and bats had swept in over the rocky hills like a cold wind on a stormy evening._

_Looking down from his place on Ravenhill, Bilbo can see them, swarming the ground, from the fields in front of the mountain to the city of Dale, killing whoever is in their way._

_They never wanted a war, only the dwarves’ home back. A place for his friends to call home. For Thorin to be the king he was born to be, in the place he should be. Their rightful home._

_His head is throbbing, and his legs ache after running up here. His mouth is filled with the taste of blood, and his ears are ringing._

_He can see them. But he cannot hear them. He’s sure he could hear their screams just a moment ago. Piercing sounds of anguish, pain, and of anger. Even the screams from terrified children. It broke his heart to hear them._

_But he can’t hear them anymore. Only the loud, quick beating of his heart. His own gasps of breath, coming out as fog in the cold air._

_The ground beneath his feet is speckled with blood. As are his hands. They’re cold too, and almost grey. He can’t remember his hands being so cold, or the blood so bright._

_It was never supposed to go this way._

_They never wanted a war._

_Bilbo gasps for breath. The cold air stings and he falls to his knees, his coughs colouring the snow with droplets of blood._

_He has no memory of getting hurt..._

_He didn’t get hurt... Did he?_

_Something’s wrong._

_His hands are digging into the snow, but he can’t feel it. It’s not even cold._

_Looking up, he can see the battlefield to his right. It’s so far away. And to think his friends are down there!_

_But then he sees him. Bilbo frowns at the figure on the ice in front of him. He’s quite a distance away, but he can see him clearly. Thorin, standing alone, looking out over the battlefield._

_Then a horrible, loud, and painful yell cuts through the quiet air, and Thorin falls down to the ground._

_Scrambling forward, Bilbo tries to get up. His legs feel numb, but he gets up and runs as fast as he can. The ground is covered in ice and snow, making it difficult for his... sock clad feet._

_When did he put socks on his feet?_

_“THORIN!”_

_Thorin is frowning at him when he sits down beside him._

_“Thorin...” He croaks. His throat is dry, and he coughs. There’s no blood coming out this time, nor does his mouth have the taste of it either. It tastes... It tastes of honey..._

_Swallowing, Bilbo grabs Thorin’s hand. “I’m so sorry, I, this isn’t, this, ah – why did this have to happen, we, you’re... you’re hurt.”_

_“Bilbo.”_

_“Thorin.”_

_“Bilbo, I’m alright.”_

_“No, you’re – ah – you’re hurt!”_

_“Bilbo... Bilbo, I’m not hurt.”_

_Thorin’s face is pale, he has a cut across his forehead, and blood smeared across his face, but he’s... He’s smiling..._

_“But...” Bilbo mumbles, his hands stroking his cheek, down his chest and side. “But you...”_

_“Bilbo...”_

_“Bilbo...!”_

_Thorin sits up, and look at him with a smile._

_“Bilbo, wake up.”_

_“But I’m...”_

_“Wake up, Bilbo.”_

_Bilbo begins to shake, and looking down, one of Thorin’s hands are on his shoulder, and Thorin is frowning at him._

_“Wake up, Bilbo!”_

It’s with a loud gasp Bilbo shoots up in bed, his arms flailing as he crashes into Thorin’s chest. Warm, gentle arms wrap around him and hold him close.

“Oh, Bilbo...” Thorin mumbles into his hair, his hand stroking his back.

“Did you dream of the battle again?” he whispers.

Bilbo only nods, his cheek rubbing against Thorin’s shoulder.

With Bilbo still in his arms, Thorin lies down, and Bilbo snuggles close.

 

It's been two years since the battle happened, and if it hadn't left many physical scars on their bodies, it had marked their heart’ and minds. Nightmares had troubled Bilbo for quite some time, sometimes smaller bits and pieces of the battle, but mostly they involved Thorin dying, or himself.

They had dwindled down after some months, but now the calendar marked another year, and he’d been bothered by dreams again the past three days. But Thorin was always there. Always there to wake him up, to hold and comfort him, be it in the middle of the night or day.

“It was... Strange.” Bilbo says after a moment.

Thorin looks at him, his blue eyes shining in the light from the fireplace. “Why?”

“Well...” putting his arm around Thorin’s waist, Bilbo gently grabs and holds onto the fabric of his soft tunic. “Everything went from tasting blood to... To honey! And I wore socks! Socks! Can you believe it!”

Blinking innocently, a small smile deepens the crow’s feet around Thorin’s eyes.

“Why would I, a hobbit, wear socks? And during a battle of all things!”

“Because your feet aren’t used to the cold stone of the mountain, and they get cold. I keep telling you that.”

“What?”

“Your feet were cold, Bilbo.”

“They’re most definitely not cold, they’re too warm, actually!”

“Is that so,” Thorin chuckles. He nudges Bilbo’s feet with one of his own, and finally looking down, Bilbo sees the burgundy woollen socks on his usually bare feet.

“Why am I wearing socks?!” Bilbo frowns.

“I told you, you were cold.”

“My feet don’t get cold...” Bilbo mumbles as Thorin pulls him closer to himself, muffling Bilbo’s complaints as he kisses the top of his hobbit’s head.

“No, never,” Thorin says, giving him another kiss.

“And you had tea just before your nap.”

Bilbo laughs against Thorin’s chest. “That explains the honey, then.”

 

Moments like these make it all worth it. He’d questioned his sanity more than once during the quest, wondered why he’d agreed to travel across the country, and how he’d ended up encountering all the beasts and terrible situations. But it had all been worth it. They’d accomplished something so great Bilbo still couldn’t quite fathom it.

And they’d grown, as people, and a group. The bonds between family and friends had grown stronger, and in the midst of it, Bilbo had been the odd one out who’d grown close to them all, and couldn’t imagine a day without them. Especially Thorin.

When things had quietened down and rebuilding was well under way, they’d sought the other out more often, enjoying the other’s company.

They had all been busy and focused on the rebuilding of Erebor, of securing food and everything they would need for the winter, and making sure the dwarves from the blue mountains would arrive safely, that it had taken them all months to finally relax, and talk together again about something else than the quest and work to be done. Just the company, as a group of friends and family. But when they had, and it was decided Bilbo would be staying, the dwarves had been more interested in learning about him, his home, and life in Hobbiton, and of the hobbits’ traditions.

And Bilbo was more than happy to share tales and memories. Whilst he had enjoyed their stories of Durin’s Day and the history behind it, and their people, the dwarves had enjoyed his stories of Yule. It’s a tradition not celebrated by the dwarves, but one they had found most intriguing, and though different, both celebrated the end of a year and the beginning of a new.

 

Thorin’s fingers in his hair and on his back almost lull him back to sleep. But that simply won’t do! They have a feast to attend!

“Thorin...” Bilbo mumbles. He hides a yawn against Thorin shoulder and sighs happily as Thorin’s arms hug him close. "We should probably get going..."

"Mhm, soon," Thorin smiles. 

 

 

Rows of tables are lined up in the great hall, with a long table stretching across the end of all the others that have been readied for Thorin, his family, and the company.

Balin is standing by his seat, a tankard in his hand. “For Thorin!” he shouts as everyone’s eyes turn to Thorin when he, Bilbo, Dís, Fili, and Kili enters the hall.

“For Thorin!” the dwarves chorus, their glasses and tankards clinking against each other.

All tables have golden candelabras, the candles lighting up the room in a warm glow, but whilst that is the only decoration on all the other tables, Bilbo notices something new on theirs. Sprigs of pine and mistletoe, and pinecones with their edges dipped in gold adorn the table.

Ori is looking at him with a smile and looking back to Thorin, he and Kili are smiling at him. “You... You did this for me?”

Thorin takes Bilbo’s hand in his, a warmth and comfort Bilbo will never take for granted. “You spoke so warmly of your Yule celebrations last year, and having missed two because of us, we wanted to bring it to you, a piece of your Shire, to Erebor.”

“I... Oh, Thorin," Bilbo grins.

The dark, green-tinted stone walls shine in the light of the candles and the fire in the large fireplace as if also being decorated for the feast. It had been so dark for some time, unlit and covered by dust, but those days were over, it was all over. Though there’s still some work to be done around the mountain, it shines again, and it’s as if the mountain has taken a deep breath of fresh air, and had its worries lifted from its shoulders.

They truly deserve this feast. The mountain to be celebrated and filled with life, the people to relax, enjoy themselves, and keep their tradition alive, and honour Durins day. Last year’s celebrations had been wonderful, but now the number of dwarves and amount of food is much bigger and judging by the loud talking, laughter, and singing, it’ll be a lively and fantastic feast indeed.

After being without his seven meals a day for quite some time, it had taken Bilbo a month or two to start eating as much again. And a feast celebrating both Durins day and their victory in battle, and an early Yule for Bilbo, means lots of food.

“More potatoes, sweetheart?” Dís asks, only to scoop up two from the bowl and onto his plate without waiting for an answer. From his other side, Thorin chuckles as he puts more chicken on both their plates.  
  


By the time dessert arrives, Bilbo is sitting back in his large chair with one hand on his stomach, the other holding onto Thorin’s, and his toes, which barely touch the floor, taps along to the music.

Even Fili and Kili are playing on their fiddles, the brothers, unlike the other musicians, are unable to stand still, and plays their way around the hall, to the joy of many of the women.

Bilbo looks out over all the people present, and at his friends and new family. Though he loves and misses his relatives in the shire, he’s thankful to have had an adventure, and to be alive, and that Thorin and the company are alive and well too, and that they get to share such a wonderful evening together.

"So, how was this tradition of yours again?" Thorin asks.

Looking over at him, Bilbo is met with a smug smile and a mistletoe, and grins at the sight. 

"I believe it's something like this..." He says as he leans closer to Thorin, and hums as they kiss. 


End file.
